Taste

Taste. The sensation in the mouth that involves the emotion and impacts on our psychological well-being.

Today is Good Friday.

Reflection is given to Jesus who claimed his identity as the Son of God.

Taste. To ascertain the flavour writes the Merriam Webster Dictionary.

My mother would spend time prepping food for her guests. Choosing good ingredients.

In her final months I would prepare tasty meals for her. I remember her gratitude for the goodness and flavour of her food.

At a sad time of my life, one Christmas, my mother wrapped up for me a gift, a colourful copy of a Nigella cook book. I took it out of my packing box yesterday. The memory remains. The gift offered colour and comfort in the season. Mother has passed now but her gift remains.

Jesus liked food. Fish particularly! Bread and wine. They spoke deep, beyond the taste.

On the cross Jesus was offered wine mingled with myrrh.

He tasted it.

Beyond the gift, gifted to me, from my mother, Jesus is offered a taste to nullify the pain. He refused.

My cook book helped my pain. Bringing distraction.

The drink given to Jesus was refused. He needed to identify with the pain he was carrying, not just his own pain. Faith understands this; that his pain carried the weight and shape of our pain. The pain of error in our life that stopped our true creative design of glorifying the Father. The creator. He tasted and refused. A point to reflect on. Sit with. Taste. It spoke freedom into our hearts.

David Mathis writes,

At the cross, he drank the wine of his Father’s wrath down to its very dregs, and he did so for us—that we might enjoy the wine of his Father’s love, join him at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb, and live redeemed forever in the glorious presence of the one who took no shortcuts in saving us.

No shortcuts in saving us. That includes the refusal of wine mingled with myrrh.

Some thoughts amidst the bustle of gatherings, shopping, chatting and embracing the sunshine of Good Friday.

Love Rach x

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